Teddy's First Kill
by Mandala Morgaine
Summary: A look at the young T-bag that I decided to do because he is the most twisted of all the characters. His life at age 18. Tell me if you like it!
1. The Day He Changed His Destiny

Eighteen years old, and graduating from High School, but Teddy isn't present with the rest of his senior class. He is home, nursing the aftermath of a beating at the hands of his father, a man he thoroughly despised. _Reviled. Loathed. Detested. Abhorred. Hated. _Yes, 'hate' was an appropriate word. He hated his father.

He sits against his bed, dictionary resting on his lap, and stares at the wall. He has covered it with pages out of the school dictionary- they never caught him for _that_- because his pa told him to do it and Teddy didn't need any special 'persuading' to do as asked. He doesn't notice it, but his hands are rubbing against the dirty shag carpet restlessly and he is gnawing on his tongue, a tic he has picked up from childhood.

Pans clank violently in the kitchen and Teddy know tonight will be a bad one. The water is running, the drier tumbles noisily, and the air conditioner is whirling. It seems to make the loud kitchen noises even louder; his pa is angry now. Teddy is old enough- strong enough, even- to stand up against this abuse; he knows it. Pa knows it too, but is trying to be an alpha male.

_A leader, commander, boss, superior, manager, director, _thinks Teddy automatically. His eyes are riveted to the wall, to a certain spot on the wall that takes his concentration and kicks his mind into a new gear. He does not hear the heavy footsteps coming down the hall, does not hear the door open or notice the man standing in his doorway until his father speaks.

"Good, you're studying." His words are slurred slightly already; Teddy sees the half empty beer bottle in his hand and his eyes go dark. "I've always thought you could do anything, Teddy. Be anyone." As he leans down, Teddy can smell the alcohol with sudden sharpness. For a moment he freezes as his father pets his head with a loving hand.

"Don't touch me, Pa." His voice is hoarse, the words forced out through his fear and rage. Again, his eyes are fixed on that word- that one word- with such ferocity that he can see the letters falling into place to spell it.

The man is drunk, and does not see the threat hidden in those words. "Teddy," he says, "what's gotten into you?" His fingers caress the boy's ear then his neck and finish with a firm grip on his shoulder. "You should be more respectful of your elders!" And, though Teddy sees the drunken rage building, he pushes the man away.

"Get outta here, Pa," eyes bright as they stare at the word. His hand moves beneath the bed, reaching for the hunting knife he has had stored for quite some time, and he does not realize that he has done this. The word on the wall leaps out at him, devouring in its intensity, until the faded black ink fills his entire vision.

"Whad'ya think you're doing?" his father growled, grabbing Teddy by the collar of his shirt roughly.

Teddy turned slowly, a wild light in his eyes, and moistened his lips quickly. "Murder," he said in a rough whisper and drew the blade. "To kill another human being!" The blade came down hard and hit home- "To kill brutally or inhumanly-" and again- "To put an end to or destroy-" another blow- "_to spoil! To defeat!_" He screamed as the knife came down again. "_Destroy, finish, liquidate, slay, _and _kill!"_

The man was on the floor, _finished_. His beer had spilt over the once-beige rug. Teddy licked his lips again and tasted blood- not his- and savored the taste with deep, heaving breaths as he looked down upon the pig that was his father. It took several minutes before he believed it himself that the tyrannical reign was over and he was free.

--

One of the few remaining dogs whimpered as Teddy heaved his father's body into the old well. Teddy kicked it for good measure and walked back into the house to collect the savings his father had hidden away. On the way he smiled. Like his pa had once said, _he could do anything._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_A bit of T-bag shows through_

…

When the police finally spotted Theodore Bagwell, the boy was sitting on the steps of a church in Montgomery. He was slight of figure, only a small thing, with a shock of dirty blond hair that spilled over into his face; his eyes were hollow, and he did not turn when the police officer approached.

Theodore's eyes flickered nervously, a sign the man did not catch as he drew near, and he forced himself to focus on the stone railing to the steps.

"Theodore Bagwell?" The boy's eyes turn toward the policeman for the first time. The officer was taken aback by the hard glint to them like a wounded animal.

"May I help you, officer?" Teddy said smoothly in his long southern drawl. His voice, too, had an undercurrent to it- a roughness that was hard to hear at first. Reflexively, his hands clenched under long shirt sleeves.

"You need to step to the patrol car with me, Mr. Bagwell. It's concerning your father."

Teddy ignored the hint and looked back to the rock stairs. His face is an unreadable mask. "I don't want anything to do with that man, and if he's telling you anything you can be sure it's a lie," he said tightly.

"We need to talk to you down at the station." The officer took hold of Teddy by the upper arm and pulled him to his feet. He felt the boy was more like a malicious urchin than a frightened runaway but still he tried to be reassuring. "We just need a statement, nothing big."

Halfway to the car, Teddy stopped. "Now I know there's no way you were thinking of putting me in the car with a-" he stopped as he caught the look in the policeman's eyes, but he seethed at the black officer riding in the front of the car. No physical force could move his hatred or his body.

The officer motioned to his partner for some assistance. "Ted, don't make a scene here- not in front of the church. You ain't in trouble yet, so don't make any."

Teddy tried to throw himself back, his mind churning out words like a thesaurus, but these were words of hate. The cop tried to hold him, but Teddy was free with a roll of the shoulder. "I am _not_ riding in the car with that!" he hissed as he backed away. He grabbed his backpack and hugged it tight, nearly passing for frightened but thwarted by the cruel gleam in his eyes.

The second officer had approached. He had one hand on his gun- a threat- and the other out to plead with Teddy. "Son, please come with us. It'll be a lot easier; we don't want to have to arrest you."

"Son? Don't you talk to me you-" Teddy was tossed to the pavement. He cried out in protest as his hands were cuffed behind him and he was read his Miranda rights. Teddy scrambled for his backpack, in it all he had left to his name, but the second police officer picked it up and began searching it roughly. "Hey, don't touch my stuff!" he shouted, but the man didn't hear him.

The first police officer pushed him into the car; Teddy had to remember to duck so he didn't hit his head off the door frame. "Should've gotten in the car, _Teddy_," the officer spat out his name as if it were filth.

"I know everything in that bag, Officer," answered Teddy, forcibly ignoring the implied threat in the man's voice. His voice was oiled even when threatening. "If that _man _should peruse my belongings and, say, discover something that I did not know was present? Well, me and my friends, we'd be beside ourselves."

"That's a threat that can't be taken lightly."

"What threat?" asked Teddy with a tone of false charm as the second officer got into the car. Despite his cool manner, however, he was chewing his tongue again.

--

The yellow light overhead is painfully bright against the metal furniture in the room. The air, even, is a bit painful. It was the trapped heat of the day trying to escape from sweaty criminals and overfed cops. Teddy loathed it, knowing both that it had not been and would not ever be changed and that he would be in this interrogation room for a good deal longer. He sighed and straightened his dress shirt as best he could with the handcuffs in place; at least he might look halfway respectable this time.

The door opened and another policeman entered. "A suit!" said Teddy in false surprise as he licked his lips. "Let's start with some pleasantries, shall we? You are who, may I ask?" He tilted his head to invite the man to sit.

The officer did. "Officer Feeney; I'll be asking you a few questions tonight. May I inquire why you have not given me _your_ name?"

Teddy appeared flattered. "Mr. Feeney, I came here thinking you had that little packet of information on me. It just so happens that you already know my name. It's _right there_." The last words were highly inflected; they sounded suave and charming.

"Theodore Bagwell. T-bag by some of your gang," Officer Feeney said accusingly. Teddy's smile faded a bit and froze to his features.

"Now I thought we were here for some statements or something," he replied in anger then thought better of it. "That stuff's trivial, really. Not for gentlemen to be discussing." The smile froze again, and Officer Feeney knew it would not work to continue on his pre-chosen course of conversation.

"What brought you all the way out here, Mr. Bagwell?"

"I've never been," said Teddy with a slight tic.

The officer asked after a moment's silence, "Where'd you get that shiner, Mr. Bagwell?"

"I got a beating that was coming to me," replied Teddy with a grin. He clenched his fists together without meaning to.

"From your father?"

"How 'bout I get you that statement, Officer?" Teddy said softly, voice oozing an intimacy that was rarely seen outside the bedroom. He smiled brightly when the Officer was taken aback by it.

"I hear you had a rough childhood with your father?" The bait was quickly set. "Had some rough handling?"

Teddy took it. "I'm eighteen," he snarled, losing his cool. "My juvenile records are sealed. Do you hear me? _Sealed!_" He slammed his fists onto the metal table.

The loud bang startled the officer, who had not truly thought him violent or dangerous. Now he knew better. "I'll let you think about it overnight, Teddy." He got up to leave.

"Think about what?" screamed Teddy angrily. "_Think about what_?"

The door had already shut in his face.


	3. The Well

Chapter 3

_The Well Holds More Than a Body_

The night is silent inside the small jail cell. Teddy is there, being held overnight for reasons as of yet unspecified. He is sitting on a small white cot in the far corner of his cell. From where he sits, his arms curled protectively around his knees, he can see down the hall to the guard's booth. The guard had given up trying to talk to Teddy four hours ago after realizing that the boy won't acknowledge him; the guard is Hispanic.

It had started for Teddy rather indifferently with the words _'Think about it.'_ At that time he had been to angry to see the power within the words. He had screamed and raved, probably coming across as a psychopath those present, but he had not thought about the meaning of those words. Now he was cursed as unwanted memories floated past his vision like a smoke screen- cursed as he couldn't help but _think about it_.

Teddy heard the sickening sound, something between a thump and a giant crack, as his father's body hit the bottom of the old well. Suddenly he was back, happy at his newfound freedom as he took a drag off a stale _Pall Mall_. He covered up the bottom of the well with leaves, old trash, and dirt; afterward, he even covered the well with its rotten wood covering.

Only a few weeks before that moment, Teddy remembered, he had been out there with his father. The old man had been too fat and unable to make the trip to the bottom of the well. He had made Teddy crawl down into its depths with a flashlight, scourging Teddy with foul words when the boy had expressed his dislike of the well.

Teddy had gone into the muck at the bottom and spent much of the day loading buckets from his shovel until the bottom was cleared of twigs and rotting leaves. After thirty minutes, he had stopped trying to see the sky- mud and debris rained down upon him and the situation was more tolerable if his face wasn't covered in muck. Gradually, he became used to the claustrophobic conditions.

They had dropped a load of gravel into the bottom of the well, then tossed bigger rocks over it to form a solid floor. It had taken Teddy a while to scramble up the rope and out of the well because his muscles were so weary. He had collapsed into the weed thirsty, filthy, and tired; his pa had laughed even when Teddy began coughing breaths.

"I am never going down there again!" said Teddy between breaths, his mind thrown off by the sudden change of space available to him. He was reeling in the evening sunlight, the open skies. The unknown terror he held in his heart for the well was returning to him; this day of confined darkness would be added to the list of black memories pertaining to the well.

"You look like a Monkey," his pa had sneered, pointing to the near-black mud that coated Teddy. His voice was thick with beer and, sure enough, Teddy saw several empty bottles scattered in the unmanaged grass.

"Help me up, Pa," Teddy had panted.

"I ain't touching you like that, boy." The man had started to walk away then.

Teddy stood slowly, feeling the ache fully in his wiry muscles. He stripped off the old wife-beater that had once been white and wiped off his arm of excess mud. There was nothing he could do about his hair, though, and he walked after his dad to the house. Quietly, he said: "Ain't isn't a word, Pa. Don't say it."

His father turned on him so suddenly that Teddy so fast had no time to react. The blow hit him in the face; he felt blood coming from his nose and cupped his hands over it. He groaned in pain. He did not see the second blow, the one that brought him to the ground, either.

"Go get cleaned, boy. I _ain't_ touching you like that," snarled his pa as he stood over him. His drunken mind still had its limits.

Teddy, however, remained on the ground. He looked up with eyes tearing in rage, and at that moment he saw his father as a silhouette of evil against the setting sun. _Evil, foul, immoral, vile, sickening._ How badly he wanted to do something, but even then he did not have the courage.

"I said _get up!_" shouted his Pa with a _Pall Mall _in hand, and Teddy got to his feet painfully. While he knew what was already coming for him later, the repercussions would be much worse if he did not obey. He shouldn't have said anything.

Teddy trudged into the house and took a long shower; afterwards, he stood before the mirror in his towel and looked at his swollen face, too tender to shave. A sudden urge came to destroy his reflection. He lifted his fist but did not move- he feared his father's reaction. He feared his father. Teddy ran a hand through his hair and held back the tears. He changed into clean clothes and barricaded himself in his bed room.

Curled into a small ball on his cot, Teddy is sleeping. The guard has changed and looked over the cell once already. He has not woken the boy from his troublesome sleep- a nightmare, perhaps- but finds some entertainment in hearing the small voice saying words.

Teddy frowns in his sleep and curls an arm protectively across his face. In his sleep he can do this- can be scared- because in his dream he is a child. His mind is traveling backward on its own, each jump linked by a common theme, that horrifies him more and more. _The well_.

Teddy is ten now. He is sitting at the table while his pa sits in front of the TV with his friends. Teddy doesn't have friends; all the children shy away from him. They call him stupid, trash. He knows he isn't stupid, because he remembers a great many words and his father praises him on his intelligence. His father has him study all the time so he will be smart; Teddy is even studying right now.

The game is over after a long day and Teddy's father enters the kitchen with a half-empty bottle of beer after his friends leave. Teddy looks up from the dictionary he is studying with apprehension because he knows what sometimes happens when he pa is too drunk. He is right, too, in thinking this.

Pa's hands are not soft on little Teddy, and he tries to shrug the man away. "Pa, I'm studying," he says as if it will be a deterrent. He is scared.

"You can be President some day," his father whispered in his ear. Teddy smells the alcohol on his breath and shivers.

"I don't _wanna _be the President," he says petulantly, trying to get up from the table. He has left the book open and flinches when his father slams it furiously.

"You'll be whatever I tell you, boy!" his father growls in anger. Teddy jumps in surprise then cowers in his father's shadow. He tries and fails to crawl out of the way. His father grabs his ankle and pulls him toward the door; Teddy kicks but this matters little because he is so light and only manages to further enrage his dad.

"Let me go, pa," he says in a whimper. His pa stops- a hopeful sign- but then grabs Teddy by the shirt and proceeds to drag him through the yard. Now Teddy screams, knowing where he is being brought.

"NO, Pa, please! _Please!_" Teddy thrashes and tries to shake loose. He can see the well when he turns to look, though it still lies far enough away. "Pa, stop! Stop!"

"You're disrespecting me, boy. Now shuttup!" slurs his father and shakes him silent.

"I'll be good, pa; I promise I'll behave," he says in a small voice as his stomach turns sour. He's sobbing heavily and the words are difficult to say aloud. Teddy falls still with running eyes as they reach the old well. Its depths are black and smelling of sour water.

Still, his father shakes him toward the well. He chuckles as Teddy screams and thrashes violently. "Don't kill me!" the boy screams, trying to grasp the dead grass for safety. "I don't want to drown!" More chuckles as the boy clings to him, not so independent and strong now with his eyes swollen with tears.

Teddy cannot think, his mind impossibly torn between the horrible black hole that sinks, still, in his mind to an empty abyss and his father's affection, which Teddy knows is evil. Evil, yes, but Teddy is scared and fearful of the dark and of the tightness of the well; he has chosen his life before he knows it, never doubting that his father would throw him in and leave him if he said 'no'.

"Are you going to behave yourself?" His father's rough voice is near to him, but Teddy is still fixed on the well. His father prods him again.

Slowly the little boy nods. His face is threatening to erupt into tears again.

"Your shirt is ruined. Take it off," his father says again with a hand closed threateningly over Teddy's shoulder.

His fingers move numbly across the buttons of his filthy shirt. His jaw is trembling so badly that he bites his tongue; the pain of it takes him away for an instant, but then he is back. Teddy knows that, in a moment of weakness, he has chosen the greater of two evils.

Inside his cell, Teddy screams in his sleep. The guard runs to investigate, but soon realizes that nothing is wrong. He leaves Teddy to his nightmares and returns to the small TV tuned to the late rerun of Jay Leno. The guard is happy when the boy falls silent again and he can laugh to the monologue.

Teddy tosses in his sleep restlessly, his eyes squeezed shut. No one has realized- or perhaps the guard just didn't care- that he is scratching his forearms as he sleeps. Thick, deep lines cover his arms and bleed slowly; at the very least they will be painful for a long time. They should be excruciating now, but Teddy doesn't seem to sense this as he slips into a deeper memory- a darker dream.

All is darkness this time when Teddy opens his eyes. He is confused at first, no idea how old he is or what memory he is visiting, and the blood is rushing to his head, a threat to make him swoon. Then he feels the filthy grit of the well against him and the pain of the rope digging into his ankles. Panic wells in him and he begins to flail. Then he begins to scream. He is so sure someone will hear him- rescue him- that he screams louder and louder.

He is getting dizzy again and his fear has made some dirt come loose. To him, this pit is Hell. It is blacker than the deepest night and a thousand times more vile. He knows now what this memory is- it is of little Teddy at the age of five, punished for not putting his toys away. Teddy tastes bile in his mouth, screams, and then everything goes dark as the blackness rushes up at him from the depths of the well.

The morning guard opens the cell and runs in. Teddy is screaming so loud the average passerby is concerned. He is kicking violently, erupting the sheets in a volcano of white linen. One guard cannot keep him still.

The backup arrives quickly, and three guards hold him down. One wakes him with a few rough slaps to the face, and then Teddy's eyes are wide. He still doesn't know where he is. The guards let him go; the small man immediately scrambles to the toilet and vomits.

Teddy turns around but the guards have already retreated and shut the door. He doesn't care, but he cannot force himself to go back to sleep- not even to go near his bed.

He slides in to the opposite corner, against the cold stone wall, and curls his bloody arms securely around his knees. He tries but cannot stop the tears, and so he waits with stinging eyes for Officer Feeney to come.

_Hate to say it, but this story may be shortly coming to a close. Due to the title 'Teddy's First Kill,' I cannot follow up with many more chapters after this one. If you're a fan of it, though, I will be writing a follow-up when the inspiration strikes me fully. Feel free to review the story or message me about anything- M. Morgaine_

_This one was the hardest to write, so I hope you enjoy it. Just to be cliché about it, I'd appreciate some reviews. What you liked, didn't like, how I can improve it, want to read more, never want to read it again… Anything put politely I'll tolerate! D_


	4. And Repaint the Walls

Chapter 4

To Redo the Carpeting

…

He was sitting in the empty interrogation room, eyes fixed and unblinking. His hand absently ran through his hair, an action which caused it to seem unkempt and wild. Teddy was than concerned about appearances; he cared not for his hair or the still-bloody streaks on his arms.

The policeman was late. Already the officer had made Teddy sit through five hundred foot taps (it had been more, but he'd lost count), and still hadn't shown his face. The room did not need to have a window to tell Teddy that the sun was moving- daylight was passing. Had there been a clock on the wall, it would have said the same thing.

Having no other option, Teddy waited. Every inch of his body seemed to itch in anticipation; even when he scratched, they itch stayed close. It was palpable, like electricity in the air before a bad storm, and he expected it to be imaginary- a blip on his conscience because he hated to wait. He hated to linger, expect, anticipate.

_Linger, expect, anticipate._ He mouthed the words repeatedly, his lips moving feverishly, until the door opened quietly and quiet feet entered the room.

"I heard you had a good night's sleep," the man said. He slipped into the chair across the table with a smug grin.

Teddy looked up and stared at the man. "Well now, Officer," he said with a smile that seemed grotesquely sexual in nature, "you have not kept your appointment well. I was expecting you over forty three minutes ago."

The smile faded from the Feeney's face as he looked at his watch; exactly forty four minutes had passed since he'd ordered the boy brought to this room to sweat. "Didn't know you were a punctual person," he said at last.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," said Teddy with a wink. "You could've at least brought me some coffee from that pot you all have out there." He motioned carelessly to the mirror and beyond, where there was indeed a coffee pot full of steaming black grounds and sludgy water.

"You don't seem like a coffee type."

"I hate coffee, but it just seemed like a courtesy to bring me a cup." Teddy shrugged simply. "As a friendly gesture."

Feeney nodded. "You're much quieter than yesterday."

"I realized that nothing can break a green branch. It's made me calmer."

"A green branch?" Feeney, a city boy, did not catch the allusion.

"A green branch," repeated Teddy evenly. "You know, one of those young, _supple_ tree branches that can't be broken."

"I recall that they _can_ be broken," Feeney pressed.

"Ooh, but it is such a _pain_ for everyone involved, Officer Feeney, because it never works the way you want it to and it always leaves you feeling raw." Through the dashing smile and innocent words, he had just threatened the officer.

"Where were you May 30?" the man said abruptly, drawing an end to Teddy's reign in the room.

"Well, I wasn't at my graduation, but you already know that. See the eye?" Teddy brought his eye into plain view, showing off the faint blue-green tinge still trapped around his cheekbone. "I had an ice pack to it all night."

"Where were you that night, Mr. Bagwell?"

Teddy sighed heavily and slouched back in his chair. He reclined an arm over its back leisurely and pretended to think. _Murder, blood, the well, darkness._ "Well I suppose I must've been at my house, lying on my bed and listening to the hum of the fans."

"Just lying there?"

"Well I sure as hell wasn't out there kicking puppies or burning crosses, Mr. Feeney! No, no. My daddy would've been livid if I'd gone anywhere."

"Was he a violent man?"

"Was? Don't play a fool, Officer. He still _is_. How'd you figure I got myself a shiner- playing basketball or something?" Teddy sat up and leaned forward in his seat. He pointed at the bruise in emphasis.

There was a momentary silence in the room before Teddy added, "Why am I being held here, Officer? It obviously isn't this rubbish you all are throwing around about assaulting an officer."

"Those charges have been dropped on certain grounds. You can be held for two more days without us charging you, so you don't need an attorney present for questioning."

"So I'm free to go? I can just walk right on out of this room and never look back? This entire time, and you never told me." He bit his lip and hissed at the policeman, effectively causing him to recoil. Teddy's power- his power to horrify- was returning, and both men felt it.

"Not exactly."

Teddy pondered the thought before asking, "Why are you asking 'bout my old man?"

"He's been reported missing."

"Good for him," sniffed Teddy without looking too sorry about the matter.

"Frankly I thought you'd be more upset than that."

"Oh, that man has been talking about leaving me for years. It's about time he did it already and stopped threatening me." Teddy leaned back and stretched in his seat. Several bones cracked audibly in the heavy silence.

"You don't know his whereabouts?"

"Why should I?"

"You're his son, for starters," said the man sarcastically.

"I'd rather not go into this, Mr. Feeney. I find it too-" he took a deep breath through the nose- "_personal_."

"I fail to see the connection-"

"Well make it. I don't discuss _family matters _with strangers."

"Is that why child services didn't take you from him? Even though they knew what he was?"

"Do you have a family?"

"That he was a rapist?" continued the policeman, unable to be phased.

"I bet you do.. You seem like just the person who would. What is it- two boys? I bet that's it, and I'm willing to say they're young." Teddy's eyes flashed dangerously. "_Fresh._"

Officer Feeney paused, knowing that the boy was just bluffing out of an uncomfortable situation. He was, however, sickened by the way Ted talked of children; it was surely a sign of things to come, he felt.

"What are you going to do?" asked Teddy, thriving in his confrontation. "Keep me here by saying I murdered my father and dropped his body somewhere on the highway?" His tone was sarcastic, but he knew they'd take the words seriously enough.

They did. Officer Feeney was out of his seat and gone, and Teddy heard the scrambling of feet, the swish of Styrofoam cups against plastic trash bags, and the scream of the door slowly closing. He tilted his seat back with a smile and reclined; those men would never find his father's body.

Teddy was smart. The well lay a good obscuring distance from his house and the path to it was overgrown and rampant with weeds. No one without a strong reason would dare to struggle through the knee-high tangle, so unless it was a suspected hiding spot it would be well protected. From its distance, it would watch through the branches of natural fencing as the police searched for clues to Mr. Bagwell's disappearance.

One of the first thoughts of the police was that Teddy had murdered his father in his bedroom before dragging the body into the cellar. They followed this lead immediately, as it was seemingly the work of an amateur and thus simple to solve, but came up at a dead end. Literally. The rotting carcass of a large mutt dog was all they found in the room, its odor potent enough to sting the eyes and churn the stomach. When they finally thought to check the large blood smears covering the floors of the house, the detectives were disappointed to learn that their evidence was contaminated with canine blood and thereby unusable.

Officially, the had Teddy arrested and arraigned for the murder of his father. He smiled and shook his head at this, even going so far as to tell his state-appointed attorney that he felt bad for the confusion in the matter. Sure, he had a grudge against animals, but killing his father? That was unspeakable. He even chuckled audibly when the courts decided he was a flight risk.

The issue of evidence was troublesome for the prosecution. Not only did they have no blood evidence to work with, the supposed murder weapon was nowhere to be found. Teddy's clothes, which would have had to be bloody, never saw the light of day; they were either hidden ingeniously or falsified. In short, the only evidence against Teddy was his juvenile history of torturing animals and racial violence.

"I am over the age of juvenile, are I not?" Teddy asked his council tersely, biting his lip edgily.

"You are, Mr. Bagwell."

"Then seal my records," snapped Teddy. He rubbed his temples furiously. His attorney got it done. With the only evidence sealed, the judge had only to decide that there was no real trial going on. Teddy rose in front of the remnants of his family- his cousins and uncles- and heard the verdict with a satisfied grin. Six months after the fact, and he was free to do as he pleased now, officially found innocent in the disappearance of his father.

His first action was to move back home and redo the carpeting.


End file.
